last hours,
Dwelling amid these yellowing bowers:
To himself he talks;
For at eventide, listening earnestly,
At his work you may hear him sob and sigh,
In the walks;
Earthward he boweth the heavy stalks
Of the mouldering flowers:
Heavily hangs the broad sunflower
Over its grave i' the earth so chilly;
Heavily hangs the hollyhock,
Heavily hangs the tiger-lily."

"That is very pretty poetry, gentlemen," said Morgenstern, who had come
in behind us, "but is it not a little vague? You like it, but you cannot
tell exactly what it means. I find the same fault in the picture from
my point of view. There is nothing in it to make a paragraph about, no
anecdote, no experiment in technique. It is impossible to persuade the
public to admire a picture unless you can tell them precisely the points
on which they must fix their admiration. And that is why, although the
painting is a good one, I should be willing to sell it at a low price."

He named a sum of money in three figures, so small that Pierrepont, who
often buys pictures by proxy, could not conceal his surprise.

"Certainly I should consider that a good bargain, simply for
investment," said he. "Falconer's name alone ought to be worth more than
that, ten years from now. He is a rising man."

"No, Mr. Pierrepont," replied the dealer, "the picture is worth what
I ask for it, for I would not commit the impertinence of offering a
present to you or your friend; but it is worth no more. Falconer's name
will not increase in value. The catalogue of his works is too short for
fame to take much notice of it; and this is the last. Did you not hear
of his death last fall? I do not wonder, for it happened at some place
down on Long Island--a name that I never saw before, and have forgotten
now. There was not even an obituary in the newspapers."

"And besides," he continued, after a pause, "I must not conceal from
you that the painting has a blemish. It is not always visible, since you
have failed to detect it; but it is more noticeable in some lights than
in others; and, do what I will, I cannot remove it. This alone would
prevent the painting from being a good investment. Its market value will
never rise."

He turned the canvas sideways to the light, and the defect became
apparent.

It was a dim, oblong, white blot in the middle distance; a nebulous
blur in the painting, as if there had been some chemical impur